tagMatureA Dress White Shirt

A Dress White Shirt


He sat in his favorite chair, on the back deck, enjoying the afternoon sun. He was feeling sorry for himself remembering old times with his ex-wife. Their union had not been the most exciting life experience. He, was however, looking forward to his ritual afternoon pleasure. He was on his fourth or maybe fifth beer when she finally made her appearance, his next-door neighbor who on any bright sunny afternoon made her ablutions to the sun god wearing nothing but a skimpy two-piece bathing suit. She was too young for him to guess her age, but he took a stab at it noting the maturity of her curves the width of her gorgeous hips and guessed between twenty-eight and thirty-five.

She no longer had the thinness of the yet to ripen female and he had to admit to himself that her succulent buttocks made him mentally drool. It was his one brief pleasure in life seeing this curvaceous thing some what paraded before him. She was always kind enough to wave, her arm held high, lifting her heavy breasts as she did so. Although they had yet to speak, he felt he was beginning to know her. Her comings and goings brought to his attention by their close proximity, in terms of housing, to one another. She was single, he was certain, because the men seemed to vary frequently, although some did spend the night.

What surprised him was the woman varied as well, some too staying the night. He realized, as the months past, she was a free spirit, so unlike his ex it endeared her to him. He thought about going in for his sixth beer when she stood up and retreated to her home bringing to a close the one redeeming feature of his dull existence.

His wife had dumped him for another man younger than she by about seven years. It was difficult to understand why. After she had discovered she couldn't have children their sex life, which up to that point had been mediocre at best, plummeted until he was surprised if he saw her snatch once a month. This life style had continued for the next twenty-five years of their marriage. He should have known when they dated that her lack of enthusiasm was a signpost to their later sex life but he had fallen in love with her and he excused her inability to give him a blowjob finding his semen too distasteful.

He had hoped as their life together unfolded she would learn to accept his flavor. When she actually allowed a sexual union, after he came in her, she would run to the bathroom to wipe herself as though his gift was some how filthy and he had peed in her or something. He had made allowances thinking, he still felt correctly, that she would learn with experience, and try to make each new encounter more fulfilling as he tried to do. It was not to be it simply wasn't in her psyche.

So why did he stay with her? Because he was of the old school and felt that a marriage was more than sex, more than children, a life time commitment that had to be worked at to be successful not realizing he was the one doing all the work. There was one sexual activity, to be honest, to which he had become addicted. Although infrequent, when she was horny, she loved to have her cunt licked. You would think a woman that hated semen so much would be careful to protect her man from her own mucilaginous excretions. But no, she seemed to get off on the fact that he was draining her of her slime, often coating his face with her thrusting crotch. . He loved her aroused scent. Occasionally he just looked and smelled in an attempt to prolong their union, but she would soon demand his tongue cutting the activity short. Of course, she wouldn't let him kiss her afterwards complaining of pussy breath and bad taste. But because she allowed this one sexual activity, and would reward him by allowing him to slide his penis into her non-responsive body afterwards, he accepted the union as sufficient.

When she had dumped him, he had started to surf the internet looking for the free sites that gave a good view of pussy in an attempt to relieve himself of sexual tension. He soon grew bored looking at colorless bald pussies, wondering why these women seemed to think hair surrounding their intimate place was unattractive. He then tried to find sites that catered to the hairy only to be equally put off by the assumption that if he liked hairy pussies he would like hairy armpits, legs, and other body parts. Showing him, instead of what he considered the natural he admitted to himself, a series of woman that seemed to belong to the ape family.

He decided that women who shaved their pubes bald did so for clinical cleanliness or like his ex-wife had so sparse a thatch they knew it to be unattractive, not that his ex-wife would shave complaining that it would make her itchy. He remembered his dating days, before meeting his wife, the wonderful well-thatched pubes decked out in blond, brown, and red, which brought a lovely variance. He skipped the sixth beer, instead going to his bed and falling asleep from an over indulgence of alcohol.

It was after seven when the doorbell rang followed by a firm knocking which aroused him from his sleep slightly hung over from the afternoon's beer. He answered the insistent pounding to find his neighbor at his door with a twelve pack of his brand of beer. So she had noted that much about him. He invited her in embarrassed by the general clutter, but she seemed to take to it easily sweeping the two-day-old newspaper off the chair before sitting. She wrenched a can from its plastic ring and popped it with a hiss before handing him one and repeating the process for her self. After taking a long swallow, she introduced herself as Mary Thomas and as though he didn't already know his next door neighbor. He smiled and replied, "I'm Robert Brown but just call me Bob." He eyed her as they chatted about the non-important, weather and the like; she was dressed in skintight slacks showing off her curves to perfection. They were what he thought of as hip huggers allowing an abundant view of skin before the tank top covered her generous swells. He had ungentlemanly thoughts about her sweet looking navel.

He treated her as an honored guest showing manners which seem forgotten in the modern generations, but she seemed comfortable as though use to being treated with respect almost demanding it. He found her pleasant to be with and as the beer worked its magic, his hangover disappeared and she became more loquacious telling him her age of thirty-eight and asking about his. It surprised him a little he had thought much younger.

"Fifty-five," he replied, still disappointed there was such a large disparity, but she seemed undaunted and they talked long into the evening, enjoying each other's sense of humor, until the beer was gone. He offered some of his own but she slightly tipsy staggered to her feet and with a giggle asked if he was trying to have his way with her before she headed towards the door. He held her arm as he walked her home making sure she was safely in the door, before retuning home to review the evenings events in his mind. He looked around his home disappointed she had seen such a mess and uselessly cleaned a bit before heading for his own bed.

He awoke the following morning to a vicious headache knowing he had drank far to much, which recently seemed to be the story of his life. He retired after his wife had left him no longer interested in the acquisition of money, having more than enough for his few needs so all he seemed to do was drink. He vowed to reduce his intake as he began to clean again, picking up from where he had left off the previous evening. As the morning progressed, his living room took on a semblance of tidiness He then went to his bedroom to make his bed for the first time in a couple of weeks. The old sheets went into the washing machine and he checked his watch, yes, she would soon be out.

He hesitated, before taking a beer from the frig and going outside to be greeted by a beautiful sunny day. He nursed the beer waiting in anticipation for her to show, not to be disappointed as she pranced out of her home with the usual wave, maybe prolonged a little in acknowledgement of their newfound friendship, setting her breasts to lift and bounce as usual. He waved back tipping his beer in salute as she lay on a blanket bathing in the afternoon sun. His eyes ran up and down her form drinking in the voluptuousness of her flesh.

He went into his house to get another beer and upon consideration took two, before walking to his property line and motioning an offer. She had watched him approach out of the corner of her eye and noticed that the motions of standing hardened him. He had no place to hide so simply handed her the beer. If she had noticed, there was no indication except he noticed her nipples through the fabric of their covering and wondered if they were as fully erect as they appeared. Her whole body glowed in the afternoon sun covered in a thin film of moisture. The perspiration running down her cleavage excited him further but he behaved the perfect gentleman. Not wanting to hold her up, he made excuses about looking after his wash as she returned to her ablutions.

He would not repeat that mistake again, of curtailing his afternoon pleasure. He returned to his home to pick up on the cleaning where he had left off, surprising himself by pouring the balance of the second beer down the sink. The following afternoon, after a morning of serious cleaning, he was out again watching her. Mary was so beautiful to his aging eye that his body sang while he drank her in sipping on a beer. When she went in he stood up to go in but she was back now offering him a beer. Once again, he noticed her voluptuous curves covered in perspiration, her nipples taut against the fabric of her top. They talked for a while before he asked her to come again in the evening, this time he would provide the beer. She disappointed him by refusing, then maybe seeing his look of disappointment, said she would be happy to come over a couple of nights later if that was alright with him. If that was all right with him, did she have no idea what effect she had on him?

The next two days he filled with serious cleaning interrupted only by his afternoon beer, just one as he sat and watched. Even with the afternoons of seeing her, he found himself anxiously waiting their evening together. The hours before her arrival dragged seeming like days and when the doorbell did not go off promptly at seven he agonized with worry thinking she wasn't coming. The doorbell rang interrupting his concerns and he almost ran to answer it calming himself at the last minute. He opened the door to a vision of loveliness; long beautiful legs that began with strapped on heels and were toped by hip hugging short shorts.

Her top a thin material, pulled tight, covering her ample bosom but allowing the eye to examine the smallest detail down to her rather large nipples. He invited her in, following her into the now immaculate house. Her ass undulated before him, the shorts so short they exposed the cheeks of her buttocks where they joined her legs. He had obviously gone too long without because she hardened him again with the succulent sight. Again, they drank and talked long into the evening enjoying each other's company, laughing until they cried, until finally he walked her home, both of them slightly inebriated by the night's consumption.

Returning home he looked at his own body in the mirror a saw a flabby paunch with an accompanying lily white unexercised body. As with the cleaning he began that night a series of exercises which left him sore, almost unable to move the following morning. But he persisted making exercise his morning ritual along with something he had never done before. He joined a tanning salon not wanting to give up his vantage point in her afternoon ablutions in the sun. The change was gradual and he didn't realize it was effectual, melting a few years off his frame.

He didn't know it then, but that night had led to what was to become a pattern between them as the weeks past, she coming to his door once or twice a week, either by invitation or often of her own volition but he always welcomed her and at the end of the evening walked her home. Her visits increasing in frequency as they got to know each other better. He found himself telling her, with a dry sense of humor, of his sexual relations with his ex-wife, while she spoke of failed sexual relationships that had foundered time after time, as she grew more dissatisfied with each new attempt. One night she even admitted to turning to other woman to satisfy her libido, answering a question that had been in the back of his mind from when he first noticed her parade of houseguests. The almost non-existent houseguests, in the past few weeks, gave credence to her words of disappointment.

In an attempt to bring them both to the realization that relationships can be filled with wonder and love, he related his story of a long legged pussy crowned with red hair that had captivated him in his youth. A pussy always wet with desire for him. A pussy he had loved to lick, taste, and love. He would prolong his wait for his own release, as it would often experience multiple orgasms, as her mouth would attempt to suck him dry. He must have told the story well because he watched her nipples harden as his words progressed.

He noticed a surreptitious movement of her arm and glancing down saw she was rubbing her pussy through the material of her pants. Mary startled when she caught him looking, stood, and with an embarrassed giggle announced that it was obviously time to go. As he walked her home, she asked him why he had not married his beautiful red haired woman. He replied that he had foolishly thought himself too young to make a commitment and had slowly lost her to another. He would carry a long-standing regret to his grave.

Their nights together continued, now coming one right after another, often talking about sex as thought it were their solution to abstinence. Their drink of choice changing from beer to scotch as they discovered they both had a fondness for it. Often the nights lasted longer and when he walked her home, he wasn't sure who was supporting who as he staggered back alone. Then one night the inevitable happened. She was bemoaning the fact, in her inebriated state that some woman named Sally claimed she had prettier teats than she did. Mary stood, staggered a little and took off her top tearing the material in her haste to demonstrate that her boobs were as good as anybodies. She sat on his lap, her soft rounded buttocks rubbing against his instant arousal. He was as hard as a rail spike; she couldn't help but notice his condition as she presented her teats for viewing one nipple not two inches from his mouth.

Mary squirmed in his lap as she asked if her boobs were better than Sally's hardening him further if that were possible. The close proximity of her nipple allowed a magnified view of her femininity. The areolas were large and pink covered in small bumps, brought about by her obvious state of arousal. The nipple succulent almost demanded to be engulfed in his sucking tongue filled mouth. She was gorgeous. With a heavy sigh of sexual frustration, he eased her off his lap. He kept telling her how beautiful her teats were, so much better than Sally's, who ever Sally was. He rescued her top from the floor only to find it too damaged to cover her again.

He left her seated in his armchair and went in search of an old white dress shirt one of the many he had left over from the days of his working life. With a fair amount of difficulty managed to get her into it accidentally brushing against her teats with his hands as he buttoned her, while she was still trying to demonstrate their beauty. Mary looked gorgeous in the shirt, which fell below the level of her shorts making it look like the shirt was all she was wearing. He wanted to tear it off, but he was of the old school unable to take advantage of an inebriated woman, besides if the truth were admitted, he was half in love with her further tying his hands.

He walked her home, if their progress towards her front door could be called walking. Then he stood in her doorway making sure she was okay as she lay down on her chesterfield covering herself in an afghan that lay folded there. He wanted badly to cross the room and at the very least kiss her goodnight but knew he would loose control if he did, so he closed the door softly, locking it behind him and made his way home. Date rape was not part of his agenda. Was that what they were doing? Dating in his home? He couldn't say for sure but the results seemed similar an escalating intimate knowledge of each other.

Strangely, he realized, she was good for him, his only drinking come on her visits in the evening. The exercise was paying off, his house was neat and tidy, and even the afternoon beer changed to a soft drink. She had brought meaning to his drab existence making him feel young again. He no longer considered himself old, but a man of middle age with much yet to offer.

Her phone call of the following afternoon admitted to an alcohol induced black out asking what had happened and wondering where her top was. He told her the truth, and asked who the heck was Sally. She giggled and said, "My friend and nemesis, you'll have to meet her sometime so you'll have more information for a comparison." She then asked if she could come over and pick up the top. Of course, she could and she was soon over. As she left, with top in one hand, her other snaked behind his head bringing his face down to hers for a quick kiss.

"Thank you," she said, "now I know what kind of man you are." She left him in agony wondering the meaning of her enigmatic phrase. Did it mean she thought him so unresponsive he no longer represented a sexual risk? Maybe it meant she trusted him not to be a sexual predator when he'd much rather come across, as the world's most dangerous. Trusted, was the last thing he wanted to be. He noticed she had not returned the shirt he had dressed her in wondering why, probably just an over sight.

She arrived on his doorstep at seven uninvited but always welcome. She accepted a drink of scotch but nursed it the entire evening and they found they no longer needed the alcohol to release their inhabitations easily comfortable and frank with each other. Mary asked him probing questions about his sexual preferences showing an understanding of him obviously garnered from all the previous conversations over the past months. He answered honestly and sometimes asked a few of his own. It was the most pleasant evening they had had and as her walked her home he basked in her scent. When they arrived at her home she turned, slipped her arms around his neck drawing herself upwards to be kissed one foot leaving the ground bent behind her as he received the most beautiful passionate warm loving kiss he had received in over twenty five years if not ever. He wandered back to his home in a stupor intoxicated by that kiss.

Her phone call of the next afternoon came as a surprise as she invited him to her place for the first time keeping to their time of seven. He arrived at her door a couple of minutes early, not able to constrain himself remembering the kiss of the previous evening. Mary was dressed beautifully, possibly a little more conservatively than usual. Tall white high heels with white hip hugging slacks, above, a wrap around with reds, yellows, and oranges flowing together to show ample cleavage and tied just blow her breasts. Her tanned body was an erotic sight. She behaved more demurely than usual offering him a scotch but drinking coffee herself.

As the evening progressed, he got the sense he was being evaluated as with coy comments and occasional glance she gave herself away. Suddenly she excused herself saying she had to freshen up. A few minutes later, he heard a hair dryer blowing and assumed she was straightening her hair. He was only partially correct. She reentered the room in her bare feet, he instinctively knew his white shirt was the only thing she wore, hiding all her charms but probably causing for him the most erotic sight he ever had the fortune to witness. She held out her hand.

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